Give the story of your life.
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:17pm
Thread Topic: Give the story of your life.
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The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically bathed me in oils until I smelt of lavender.
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I like your life lol. :D
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glitterchick97 NoviceI'm 2 lazy lol I live in Kansas with my family I have 3 little brothers 3 little sisters and my mom is due with a baby in November and I have an olde half sister who lives in Arizona:) if u think that's a lot of siblings my BFF is he youngest of 13:)
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lol
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True(ish) story!
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glitterchick97 NoviceWhy the ish lol
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dont worry about it.
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since we're makeing up are own lives i'll give it a shot...
a day with a skattered brain...
date zero,nine one,nine-questionmark..
its dark..my busted watch perminatly stands 3:37...its cold out,,the shouts of fall echo with the whispers of winter...i pull up my coller snd shove my hand into my pockets to keep warm...in vain..
i pass by the ladys of the night and the sleep derprived..gamblers,drinkers,tax evaders..all acting as if nothings wrong.
everybodys drowning knee deep in the own
filth and knowone has the brains to stand up..the neon light of the triple-x stores
guide me to my crime scene like apartment
where my bedtime story is the sound of adult intercorse..here i spend my nights
stareing into the doped up eyes of this city..screaming,,what are you doing?
as it parades in its debatury..so i whisper..is there anyone left?,anyone who still cares anyone who still trys to do the right thing,even if it takes from you
anyone who fights the tide of greed and love..i lay down and stare at the water warped sealing,.wundering.is there any decent person left that hasent been shot or killed.or turned up in the morge..maybe i'll wake up find someone...
my last tought as i turn off the light reads..i made it..maybe someone else did
and out go's the light,,,
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